


Kitchen Table

by sinistrocular



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, bdsm tw, handcuffs tw, knifeplay tw, unabashed pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistrocular/pseuds/sinistrocular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...the man he celebrated an anniversary with just the day before, if one drink and bending the sniper over the latter’s kitchen table counted as ‘celebrating.’ -from Corpus Delicti chapter four</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitchen Table

“Operation: Enemy Combatant.” Lips brushed against Wonsik’s ear and his spine blazed to life like a string of lights.

“Green,” he replied, adjusting his trousers that must have shrunk at least two sizes in as many heartbeats.

Warm breath lingered on his neck for another moment before disappearing altogether and leaving him alone with the chill of dampened silk stuck to his skin. Grunting, he tugged on his trousers once more before he retreated toward the exit. His partner had a head start on him and knew every shortcut between here and his apartment, would be waiting for him to walk in. Wonsik blew out a breath and struggled to reign in his thoughts. Too much anticipation would only result in him blowing his load far too early and he wanted to beg for release, held at the edge time and time again. He wanted those soft hands to play his nerves like guitar, to cover his mouth and---

He walked straight into the doorframe with a clang that echoed through his skull and the bar. Focus. Focus.

From the door of the bar to the door of his apartment, Wonsik concentrated as best he could, though his body wound tighter and tighter in anticipation. As he fit his key to the lock of his apartment, the door swung open on its own. He wetted his lips to speak.

“Is someone here?” Wonsik’s voice broke on the last syllable, arching far too high to resemble any distant relative of fear. Maybe his partner wouldn’t notice.

When silence answered him, devoid of even the usual gentle humming of his refrigerator, another shudder washed across his body. Unless the old appliance had broken, his partner had indeed beat him home, though this scenario certainly differed from their previous attempts. He licked his lips again at the thought and reached behind him to close the door. The click of the latch echoed in the silence and Wonsik’s body nearly vibrated with it, but still no one emerged from the shadows. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned the lock and shrugged out of his coat.

The sleeves barely sunk to his elbows before a weight hit him from behind, like a steam train, and pressed him against the wall, his wrists wrenched overhead.

“Shit,” Wonsik groaned as cold metal circled about them and clicked.

As wool slithered back toward his shoulders, hands slid about his waist with a painful insistence, pressed flat against his body so he could hardly ignore them. Down past his belt, they crawled until long fingers framed the bulge pushing against the fabric of his pants. Wonsik’s hips jerked without his urging, seeking friction but finding none. Rather than help him achieve such a thing, the firm pressure at his thighs remained tight enough to restrict anything more than shallow rutting.

Then came the breath on his neck and he thrust desperately against the vice holding his hips.

“Not yet.” Taekwoon nibbled at his ear lobe and down his neck toward the collar of his shirt.

“M-my coat,” Wonsik grunted, though his mouth seemed far too dry to make any sound.

“Not yet,” Taekwoon repeated as he stepped closer and Wonsik found himself wishing he had not worn a coat at all.

At the apex of his trapezius, Taekwoon bit down, sending a swell of endorphins crashing against Wonsik’s senses and his hips stuttered against the wall. Just as quickly as the pain came, it disappeared as Taekwoon withdrew.

“Green?” his partner whispered against the wounded skin.

“Green, really green,” Wonsik gasped out and Taekwoon gifted him with a quiet sigh of relief that danced across prickling skin.

With that confirmation, Taekwoon crushed Wonsik against the wall, arousal pressing against his sacrum.

“Fuck, fuck.” Wonsik couldn’t find any other words than those as the grip at his hips shifted, angling him so he could feel the length of his partner deeper against his crease.

The soft fabric that separated them didn’t allow for more than that, leaving Wonsik again shuddering and jerking against Taekwoon. Friction, god he needed friction, he needed something. Taekwoon rolled his hips against Wonsik’s rear in a sinful--- his body tensed, stretched tight, his back arching, and then nothing but a thumb jammed against the seam of his hip.

“Not yet,” Taekwoon said once more and Wonsik whimpered against the wallpaper.

Heat collared his throat, slicked Wonsik’s nape with sweat that Taekwoon lapped up greedily in between gentle bites. Catching his breath required far more concentration than Wonsik could spare but Taekwoon massaged slow circles along the front of his hips. Fuck. His throat burned around the edges with every heave of his chest, his body shook with the bulb flashes of his nerves.

“Green?” Taekwoon kissed the top of his spine.

“Oh yeah.” Wonsik chuckled. “As green as… fuck, something that’s green.”

“I’d rather fuck you.” Taekwoon’s words ghosted across Wonsik’s neck and the latter shuddered again, his hips rutting furiously against Taekwoon.

To Wonsik’s surprise, Taekwoon pulled him away by the collar of his coat. Now upright, Wonsik’s trousers seemed tighter than ever and he attempted to rub himself through them with his cuffed hands, but Taekwoon wrenched his collar again, pulling the wool so tight Wonsik’s hands could only rest against his hipbones. The cool metal kissed his heated skin and Wonsik’s blood boil; he expected to see steam curling from under the cuffs of his shirt. More pressure at his back bent Wonsik like a bow and sent him stumbling forward toward the kitchen.

Would Taekwoon really---

His partner scraped him against the doorframe like one might a chair and Wonsik winced for it. Yet the pain did not make him any less eager for Taekwoon’s plans. Instead, every knock and jolt rested heavy in his gut, threatening to burst out from him at a single touch. Taekwoon didn’t offer a touch. Instead, he twisted Wonsik and swept him from his feet. Wonsik’s world swung with a blur before he slammed down against something with a jingle. With a grunt, he opened eyes he didn’t know he closed, and saw a firm hand swiping away silverware. The utensils clattered against the floor, but his partner did nothing to hush them. A blade bit into the table not far from his head and Wonsik’s heart beat furiously against the faux-steel beneath his neck.

“Y-yellow, yellow,” Wonsik stammered out, his chest heaving unevenly.

In an instant, Taekwoon released the pressure at his back and Wonsik leaned up on his cuffed hands to catch his breath. Soothing hands gently traced circles along his spine as his throat stuttered.

“You let me know when you’re ready,” Taekwoon said before pressing a light kiss to Wonsik’s neck and then removing all physical contact.

“Yeah,” Wonsik replied, the metal of his cuffs rattling against the table.

His gaze rested on the knife anchored deep into the table, edge facing away from him and angled to remain that way.

“G-gotta know what that’s for.” Wonsik struggled to see the point other than adding more intimidation to the scenario.

Not that he had a problem with knifeplay--- he and Taekwoon discussed what they could include---, but his partner had not announced its introduction.

“To hold your handcuffs,” his partner answered from behind him.

Wonsik’s brain jumped through the hoops, imagining himself stretched across the kitchen table where they prepared food, where they shared stories, where they asked questions, where they got answers. Every inch of the faux-metal top held intimate memories of the past year and now he would be laid open and fucked against it. A dine and dash, as it were. He licked his lips at the pretty portrait his mind painted.

“Can you put the knife an inch further out?” Wonsik asked, turning in place and catching a delicious view of Taekwoon’s flushed face.

His partner’s neatly buttoned vest had been lost at some point during their exchange and Taekwoon’s nipples made quite the appearance through the pressed fabric of his shirt. His neck swathed in pink and red, Taekwoon took one step forward with a nod. Wonsik shuffled a foot or two to the side to allow his partner to unwedge the knife from the tabletop.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Wonsik purred, wetting his lips again.

Taekwoon didn’t hide his gasp and shook his head with a small quirk of his lips. So CQ really did have a thing about scars of all kinds. If they weren’t killer agents, they could be artists for their desire to leave their signature behind. With half a chuckle, Taekwoon plunged the knife back into the table, a couple inches distal of the first.

“Green?” His partner asked, though Wonsik guessed he already knew the answer, but that was Taekwoon in a nutshell.

When his partner set his mind on something, he took to it with the passion of a wildfire blazing through a dry forest. Wonsik had seen it in their trainee days and he could only hope he had helped guide that fury into its currently disciplined state. Yet, more often than not, Wonsik felt as if Taekwoon had tamed him. He let Wonsik mold him, to shape him into whatever tool he needed. Or, perhaps, he had always been what Wonsik needed and it suited Taekwoon fine to continue in his nature.

The dark pool of heat reflected back at Wonsik vouched for the latter and promised that any boasting would be met with pain.

Delicious, delicious pain.

Wonsik navigated himself back to the edge of the table, upright with his cuffed hands raised. “Green.”A heartbeat after, Wonsik’s face met the tabletop again in a merry slap of skin and he groaned as Taekwoon fully rejoined him. His partner tugged his arms further away from him and hung the links of the cuffs around the blade of the knife. Underneath him, his dick throbbed against table.

“So flexible,” Taekwoon cooed as his arousal pressed against his ass again and Wonsik curled his head to one side in an attempt to catch a glance at how they fit against each other.

He watched as Taekwoon bunched up the bottom of his coat and pulled it toward Wonsik’s shoulders. Fuck ohhh fuck. Was Taekwoon not going to properly undress him? The term dine and dash came to mind again and Wonsik thought that he might lose it right then and there. Taekwoon would use him, leave him dirty and soil the table in the process.

With a shudder, Wonsik shut his eyes to focus on the fingers crawling along his backside to the leather of his belt. They danced expertly along the heated skin of his waist and offered promises of more, so much more. His belt unfurled from the buckle and Taekwoon tugged it free of the loops. Rather than the ballet of slim fingers Wonsik expected, though, his ass was instead greeted with a sharp crack of leather that sent a lightning bolt arcing through him.

Where the fuck did his partner learn how to use whips? Or something close to--- Wonsik didn’t care, he found. Only that Taekwoon was going to use his belt as a---

Crack, the leather snapped again, this time against the inside of a spread thigh. His legs jerked and if not for the knife anchoring his handcuffs, he might have fallen.

Which Taekwoon must have planned for. Fuck he loved the man behind him, loved him with every ounce of his shuddering body. Goddammit why did Taekwoon have to be perfect in every way? How was he supposed to survive seconds or, god forbid, hours away from him?

Salt dripped into Wonsik’s mouth as another flash of pain seared through him. He didn’t know if he could last like this, if he could make it to the main attraction to which Taekwoon surely built. His body tensed, expecting another blow, but instead those delicate fingers graced his waist again and popped the button of his trousers.

“Getting a little crowded in there?” His partner asked from somewhere miles away; Wonsik could barely hear through the symphony of pleasure vibrating through him.

“Answer me.” Taekwoon pinched the skin over Wonsik’s hipbone and drawing him back.

“Fuck yes,” Wonsik growled as he tried to thrust against Taekwoon’s grip, against the edge of the table, whatever would give him anything. “It’s so fucking crowded. Taekwoon, fu--UCK.”

Taekwoon had at some point unzipped his trousers for now his hand pressed against Wonsik’s length through his boxer briefs. Fucking fuck.

“Mmm,” Taekwoon hummed in approval as he tugged up the back of Wonsik’s shirt with his other hand.

Or maybe there was a third hand somewhere, Wonsik honestly didn’t know. He could hardly think of his own name at this point. All that filled his senses was the steady throb of Taekwoon, Taekwoon, Taekwoon.

Wonsik’s hips jerked against Taekwoon’s hand for a heavenly moment before the latter moved. Ignoring his groan, Taekwoon turned his wrist to ease the trousers from Wonsik’s hips. Soon, those sinful fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs for a firm grasp of his ass. Once more, the pressure at Wonsik’s sacrum threatened to unravel him. His body arched, hips pivoted out and jerking, before again Taekwoon cut him off with a thumb to the seam at his thigh.

“Not yet.”

The sticky table beneath him refused to help him gain any leverage and Wonsik choked out a sob. “I need you. Please. Fuck. Fuck me right here. Use me. Do whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“I know,” Taekwoon said, warmth coloring his tone.

Wonsik grunted, “Fuck you, you piece of---”

Taekwoon pressed a finger into him, past the tight coil of muscle and a moan ripped through Wonsik. Fucking Christ he was going to die. This was how it was going to end. Taekwoon was going to take too long and Wonsik was going to die from the lack of blood pumping through anywhere but his dick.

Curling the digit brought another shuddering groan and Wonsik could hardly see through the haze of cotton and molten glass.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” The words fell from Wonsik’s lips in a steady stream and Taekwoon answered them with a second finger that spread him wide.

He didn’t care about the preparation, he didn’t care if Taekwoon had a fucking spaceship in his pants, he wanted him inside and now.

“I said fuck me.” Wonsik’s patience flickered with each thrust of Taekwoon’s fingers.

“Maybe.” Taekwoon kissed his spine and Wonsik writhed against the table, twisted in frustration.

Kicking and bucking, Wonsik swore he would tear into Taekwoon if this foreplay went on any longer. He tried to flip himself over, one foot struggling against the leg of the table. His knee knocked against the bottom of the tabletop and that little extra bite exhausted the last reserves of Wonsik’s rational thought. He twisted and pulled at his wrists, the table swaying underneath him with a gentle rattle of the remaining silverware.

That is, until Taekwoon mounted him. At some point during Wonsik’s struggle, his partner must have undressed, or they majicked off, but Taekwoon sheathed himself in a sudden burst of elastic pain. Wonsik gasped against the sweat-covered table, but Taekwoon seized the opportunity before he could catch his breath. There was nothing gentle in Taekwoon’s brutal thrusts, in the stinging slap of skin on skin, in the vice grip at Wonsik’s hips holding him down against the table.

Around Wonsik’s ears, the silverware rattled like chimes and soon his voice joined them with every jolt of the table. Cries echoed against the table, against the kitchen’s walls, against the film that coated Wonsik’s senses. They rebounded and crescendoed and overwhelmed him, stuffed his throat with sandpaper but he shouted anyway as stars burst under his eyelids and his toes scrabbled against the tile uselessly. Those stars winked out a moment later and the next, he found himself with a blanket curled around his shoulders, propped upright, Taekwoon slapping the back of his neck.

The world around him floated into view through a rosy haze, the fabric around him like tulip petals. He laid in a lake, streaked by the sunset, staring up into the deep sky that stretched farther and farther the longer he gazed.

“Wonsik?” A voice at his ear, a drink of cool water after wandering the desert.

Ripples lapped against his neck and Wonsik blinked. The velvet curtains of the heavens condensed into matted hair stuck to the fine lines of Taekwoon’s face. Breathing seemed impossible in the presence of such beauty, but his chest rose and fell the same as it always did.

“Fuck,” Wonsik gasped out and the corners of Taekwoon’s lips quirked up. “Did I…?”

Words. What words did he---

“You blacked out,” Taekwoon provided, albeit with a burgeoning grin. Stupid fucking beautiful man.

“Fuck,” Wonsik said again for lack of any other expression.“Happy anniversary,” Taekwoon replied before doting a light kiss on each eyelid. “I’ll get you some water and protein.”

Wonsik swore his partner went to some kind of fucking seminar on how to ruin his life.


End file.
